


I Looked to the Stars for You

by kristsune



Series: Our Boy Jack [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Creeper Peter Lukas, Happy Ending, Lonely!Martin, M/M, excessive use of capital letters, if you thought i was done with that you were kidding yourself, jon is more powerful than he realizes, jonathan sims can sing, martin is trapped in the forsaken, the power of jon's voice can save martin, the power of love can save so many
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 03:24:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20717291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristsune/pseuds/kristsune
Summary: Martin is trapped in the Lonely, until he hears a certain voice calling him back.





	I Looked to the Stars for You

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I had not expected this to take off the way it did in my own brain, and I cannot believe this got this long?? Like, i think this is one of my longer fics... wow. ANYWAY. I just needed more of our Jonny boy singing. 
> 
> This will probably make a lot more sense if you read the first two parts of this series, but I suppose its not necessary, but honestly would be greatly appreciated <3 
> 
> Shout out to my usual enablers [Jesse](https://thebisexualmandalorian.tumblr.com/) and [Bubble](https://thebubbledragon.tumblr.com/) <3 
> 
> Notes about the songs/lyrics at the end.

Martin had been wandering for years. At least it felt like years. Time stopped making sense a long time ago. He had woken up in a foggy graveyard, took one look at the ominous, looming church, turned about face, and started walking. 

He found he could walk anywhere, countryside, cities, forests, suburbs. He sometimes ended up on a boat in the middle of the ocean - with no memory of how he got there - which would slowly make its way back to shore, where he could get off and start walking again. 

Two things were always consistent in that foggy, never ending landscape. One, it was _ always _ cold. Martin had on what he normally would consider a warm jumper, but it didn’t matter. He always felt the chill all the way down into his bones. He attempted to take extra clothes from shops and houses he could actually get into, to try and layer up, but they never stayed. Either when he left the building, or he closed his eyes for too long, they were just... gone. Not that it made a difference, they never really helped anyway. 

The second thing that never changed was that Martin never saw another person. Of course he would sometimes hear echoes, mostly of his mother, talking to someone else about him, about how much she hated him, how she was glad he was gone, that she didn’t have to look at him anymore. And… it hurt. He _ knew _ she wasn’t really there, but it didn’t stem the pain, the knowledge that he’d always been alone, and he’d continue to be that way. He learned to ignore it, as much as he could. No matter how much more alone it made him feel.

Sometimes Martin liked walking in places he had never seen, the ever present gentle fog obscuring his view of anything distant. Traveling through open fields, dense forests, over mountains, along rivers and lochs. There weren’t even any animals or insects. Just eerie quiet and his muted footsteps.

He never got tired. 

He was always tired. 

But he never slept. Every once and awhile he would decide to rest; sit down with his back against something solid, and close his eyes. Sometimes he’d open them, and find himself in the same place. Other times he’d open them up and find himself back in that church graveyard, and have to turn his back on it, _ again _, and pick a new direction to walk in.

Sometimes he liked to walk in areas he knew well. Around London, his old flat, the house he grew up in, his favorite restaurants and shops. It always proved to make him feel more sad, and alone than the countryside, knowing there should be so many people around, but at least he felt something other than the cold.

One of these times he found himself standing in front of the Institute. He didn’t remember walking through Chelsea, but now that he was there he couldn’t do anything other than open that door.

Which led directly to the Archives. It didn’t normally. At least he didn’t think so, but Martin’s memory of a time before this empty place was fuzzy at best. Martin wandered the halls he had known so well, seeing all the little things left behind. Tim’s desk covered in paperwork he refused to do leading up to The Unknowing. Sasha’s succulent that managed to stay alive even after she had died, and Not Them took over. Basira’s rotating stacks of books she had been working through. Melanie’s little ghost bobblehead she had from her YouTuber days. The nest of blankets Daisy had taken to napping in at strange times, because she couldn’t sleep for long periods after Too Close I Cannot Breathe. 

As Martin was lamenting the inability to make a cup of tea - yet again - he heard a voice. A voice he knew all too well. A voice he hadn’t heard in _ ages _ , a voice that had been the last thing he heard before he was in this desolate place. At first he thought it was another trick of the Lonely. Using the one thing that could _ truly _ destroy him. But he _ had _ to check it out. He had to _ know _, no matter the consequences.

He stood in front of Jon’s office door, a soft melody winding its way through.

“Oh my love, as the cannons were a-blazing  
I looked to the stars for you, my love  
Oh my love, as our cities you were razing  
I looked to the stars for you, my love.”

Martin pushed the door open, and there was Jon, sitting at his desk rifling through paperwork while singing gently. He looked… not great. He had always been thin, but he was positively gaunt now. The grey hair that had generously speckled his hair had taken over, and now dominant over the sleek black. It broke his heart at the same time it made it soar. It was _ Jon _ , right there in front of him, and he _ knew _ it was really him in a way he hadn’t known anything else in this foggy domain.

“Jon?” Martin’s voice was rough from disuse, and even he could hear the tremor in that one small word, but he couldn’t begin to care. 

Jon looked up, eyes widening in shock and surprise. Taking in Jon’s expression, he noticed something new. There was a closed eye in the center of his forehead, and it started to open. Just before it could take Martin in, to See him, a dense bank of fog rolled between them. 

Martin was back in the graveyard. He couldn’t take it; it was too much. He dropped to his knees and wept for a long, long time. Martin eventually got back to his feet and started walking. 

*******

“Where is he?! ** _Where is Martin_ ** **?**” Jon wasn’t entirely sure how he had managed to pin Peter Lukas to the wall, considering Jon was half the size of the man. He guessed it had something to do with his powers, his ability to See. At least Peter looked as surprised as he felt. He watched with a certain level of satisfaction as the full force of his compulsion hit Peter. He Knew Peter couldn’t resist it the way Elias could.

Peter shuttered as his eyes fluttered, “He gave himself to the Lonely. He is held in that realm indefinitely, or at least, until my Patron decides to finish him off for good.”

“**Can you bring him back?**” Jon refused to let up, keeping eye contact, holding him in place with his Sight more than his body.

Peter let out a shaky breath, “No. He belongs to the Forsaken now. There is nothing I can do to bring him out of there.”

“_ Shit _.” Jon took a step back, but didn’t turn away, hoping it was enough to keep Peter from pulling his usual vanishing act. 

Peter’s eyes were heavy lidded, “Pretty neat trick you’ve got there, Jon. Progressing even better than Elias predicted.”

“Oh shut it.” Jon raked his hand through his too long hair. He should get it cut, but couldn’t bring himself to care enough to actually get it done. 

“If I may ask,” Jon wanted to tell him: _ no, no, you may not ask _, but it was Peter, so he would anyway, no matter what Jon said. “What brought this… particular confrontation on?”

Jon debated on not telling him. Not giving him the satisfaction, but he hadn’t told anyone yet, and Peter was still the most likely person to have any kind of useful information. “I _ saw _ him, Martin. I know I did. I wasn’t hallucinating. I saw him disappear, months ago, from my own arms, but he was _ there _ , in my office.” Jon didn’t feel the need to add how hopeful Martin looked. A light in his eyes that Jon had missed so much he _ ached _ with it. 

Peter smirked, “Ahh I see my lovely ex-assistant is still finding ways to surprise me.” 

Jon narrowed his eyes, and growled out, “**What do you mean by that**?” he hadn’t meant to use compulsion that time, but it rolled off his tongue anyway. 

“He has a connection, an anchor here, allowing him to cross over.” Peter snapped his jaw shut, and his storm grey eyes going dark as he pulled himself to his full, impressive height, looming over Jon. “Just because you have me pinned here, doesn’t mean I still can’t teach you a lesson that Elias should have taught you a long time ago.” 

“Ah - yeah. Sorry, it - uh - it sometimes just slips out.” Just because Jon could heal quickly didn’t mean he wanted to be beaten to a pulp by Peter Lukas.

“No. More. Questions. Archivist.” He paused for a moment, making his point very clear before breaking into a smarmy grin, “Lovely! Just so long as we understand each other.”

“Yes. Right. Completely. So. How… Can … _ shit _.” Jon forgot how difficult it was to not be able to ask questions, and just pulling Knowledge out of Peter didn’t seem to work. He barely reached out only to find a void, akin to a fog, blocking him. Jon sighed heavily. “I just want to help Martin.”

“Ah, well. Unfortunately, I’m not really the one to help you there.” Peter held his hand up before Jon could get a word out, demanding that if he had information that he _ needed _ to tell him. “But, I’m pretty sure I know where you can find what you need.” 

Rather than ask, and risk getting a black eye, or bloody lip - if only for a short time - Jon clenched his teeth almost hard enough to crack, waiting for Peter to spit it out. 

Peter was obviously enjoying making Jon wait, but finally gave in, “Oh _ fine _. I tell you. But if I do, you let me go, yeah?”

He must have felt pretty desperate to leave. And now that Jon was looking, he saw a sweat just breaking out on Peter’s brow, and his fist clenched at his side (though that could just be a backup plan to punch Jon). He thought briefly of trying to push him for more information, but if he could give him a good lead, he’d let Peter go… for now. 

Jon nodded, “Yeah. Deal.” 

“You might want to go have a little chat with your old boss. He’s always one to have a little extra Knowledge kicking around that handsome skull of his. Especially when it comes to dealing with the Lonely.” Peter replied with a… Jon would almost call a fond look. There was _ definitely _ something between Peter and Elias that Jon couldn’t quite put his finger on. But that didn’t matter right now. He was there for Martin.

“Thank you, Peter.” Jon may have said it through his still clenched teeth, but he really should have learned his lesson in using his manners after Jude Perry and Mike Crew if he wanted to stop gaining new scars from other Avatars.

“Now was that so difficult?” Peter raised his eyebrows in question, voice tense, “We done here?” 

Jon sighed and closed his eyes. Immediately, a cool wave of moisture swept over him. He opened them again to watch the last hint of fog disappear. Jon took a deep breath before heading to his office to grab his coat. He needed to get to the prison before visiting hours ended. Elias wasn’t going to evade him just by being stuck in a jail cell. 

*******

Martin was trudging through knee deep snow in central London. It was getting more and more difficult for him to travel. Every time he got near the Institute he would get yanked back to the graveyard in front of that infernal church. And it was getting more and more difficult to pull himself away from it. He didn’t _ want _ to stay, didn’t _ want _ to go into that church. But sometimes he just found himself staring at it, shivering, before shaking himself out of it and turning back for London. 

He heard Jon singing three more times before the snow started. Each time he tried to give Martin instructions to try and remember before that damned fog rolled in.

The first of these three, Martin was almost as shocked to hear Jon signing as he had previously. He was in the Archives again, distance traveled all but forgotten as soon as Jon’s voice rang out:

“There was a man both good and true.  
All alone and a-lowly.  
Branded a witch for what he could do.  
Lost in the cosmos lonely.”

Martin found him in the kitchenette, singing as be brewed tea. Martin was afraid to say anything, afraid to break the moment, risk being pulled away again. He was pretty sure he had never seen Jon make tea, he wasn’t very good, but it was nice to see him doing something so … domestic.

Jon turned, and when he laid eyes on Martin, the mug dropped from his hands. It fell in slow motion, but Jon was talking as fast as he could. It hurt Martin’s brain with how out of sync they were. It took all of his focus just to listen.

“Martin! You have to remember, you need to focus - “

Three things happened simultaneously: Jon’s mug hit the floor, splattering tea everywhere. The eye on his forehead started to open, just like last time. And a thick bank of fog rolled between them again. 

Martin tried to reach out to Jon, but instead of grasping Jon’s hand, it landed on the door handle of the church. Martin recoiled as if burned. He clenched his jaw, and wiped away the tears with cold hands before turning and starting over again. 

The second time was in Jon’s office again. Singing softly as he went through a filing cabinet.

“Trapped within the warmth and the darkness, from the waking world I was torn  
Never leaving dreamless slumber, in a mind that broken and worn  
Guarded by uncounted ready guns and blades  
Sharper than a barrier of thorns.”

Jon sensed Martin much quicker this time, turning with a worried look on his face, “Martin, please remember, focus on my voice -” 

Everything happened so much faster this time. Jon’s third eye had almost been fully opened by the time the fog blocked Martin’s view. 

The fog stayed thick and soupy for a much longer time. So dense Martin couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him. After the third gravestone he ran into he slid down, back against the stone, and rested his forehead on his knees until it cleared. He had no idea how long it had taken, but it felt like months. 

The third time Jon was sitting at _ Martin’s _ desk, cradling his head in his hands. He sounded… so sad, voice rough rather than smooth, like he had been crying. 

“Heracles, Heracles  
You’re tired that’s plain to see  
I might just set you free  
But you gotta do one thing for me.”

Martin tried to ask him if he was okay, but all that came out was a croak and a cough, his voice unused for what felt like years. 

Jon looked up, cheeks wet with tears, “Focus on my voice Martin. When you hear me singing, focus. Hold onto it like a lifeline. Let me guide you home.”

Martin was not surprised when found himself on the steps to the church, but he _ was _ surprised at the first flakes of snow that started. But for the first time, Martin felt something like hope blossom in his chest. He looked up at the church with defiance in his eyes.

“_Fuck you_.” 

He turned and walked out of that graveyard just as the snow started falling in earnest.

Martin finally made it to the Institute, shivering so hard he felt like he might shake apart. It wasn’t much warmer inside, but at least he was out of the snow. He started heading to Jon’s office. He knew that was where he needed to go, and he was not disappointed by that decision. As he got closer he heard Jon’s golden voice coming out to meet him. 

“The image of my sweetheart’s face  
It fires my heart and sets the pace  
Whate’er the time, whate’er the place  
I’ll find him through the depths of space.”

And he remembered this time. He focused on Jon’s voice, held on tight, and felt it weave around him, wrap him up tight in melody, and the notes of Jon’s voice. By the time he made it to the open door, he felt the first inklings of warmth touch him. After eons of chill, and cold, and ice, it felt like a furnace. 

Jon was ready for him this time. Standing in front of his desk, singing directly to Martin, pulling him, guiding him. He smiled tentatively as Martin stepped into the room, reaching his hand out to him, all without stopping his gentle singing. 

Martin reached back, wanting nothing more than to hold Jon’s hand. He imagined it was warm, and would fit so perfectly within his own. Martin then saw fog creeping along the floor, billowing around him, but he refused to allow it to distract him. He kept his mind focused on Jon, on his words, still wrapping around him, pulsing warmth into his body. 

Jon’s third eye was almost open. 

The fog was up to his knees, getting thicker.

Their fingers only centimeters apart. 

Martin leaned against everything holding him back. Pulling away from the cold, the pain, the loneliness. He reached for the one person who made him feel warm, even though Jon had never been able to show it. Martin now knew, with a force, a _ truth _, he never had before. Jon _loved him_. Jon cared for him like no other had. Not his father who left, or his mother that hated him. Jon wanted him here, and Martin wasn’t going to let go of that. Not now. Not ever.

Martin grabbed Jon’s hand.

Jon’s third eye opened. Light blazed bright in the room. Tears pricked Martin’s eyes, but even through them he could see the fog as it burned away, disappearing with the force of Jon’s blinding light. 

Martin sighed and slumped into Jon’s arms. Jon did his best to hold him, but Martin didn’t blame him when they both slid to the floor. Jon held him against his chest, arms wrapped around him, whispering soft reassurances into his hair. “I’ve got you,” and “You’re safe now,” and “You’re not alone.”

Martin only spared a stray thought of how he must be ruining Jon’s soft jumper with the way he had his hands fisted in it, but he couldn’t let go if he wanted to. Jon was warm, and there, and _ real _. 

Eventually Jon tilted Martin’s face up, so he could look him in the eyes. His face was just as tear stained as Martin knew his own to be. Jon brushed a few of the tears away with a sweep of his thumb, “I’m glad you made it back… back to me.”

The force of Jon’s Beholding, of Seeing him almost felt like too much after being invisible for so long, but he wouldn’t give it up for anything. “Me too. Thank you… for bringing me back” 

Jon hugged him fiercely, “I’ll always be here for you. For as long as you want me.”

Martin hugged him just as tight. “_ Always _.”

They stayed that way for a long time, until Jon insisted they move to the old cot, already nested with blankets. Martin had not been so glad to see that cot in his life.

Martin curled around Jon, so his head was resting on his chest. Jon carded his hand through Martin’s hair, and said in what Martin could only describe as a fond voice, “Sleep. I’m here.”  
  
And with Jon Watching as he gently pet him, Martin slept, for what felt like the first time in years; warm, and safe, and not _ alone _.

**Author's Note:**

> All lyrics from The Mechanisms songs.  
Title from Cinder's song  
First stanza: Cinder's song  
Second stanza: Lost in the Cosmos  
Third stanza: Sleeping Beauty  
Fourth stanza: Underworld Blues  
Fifth stanza: Pump Shanty  
And yes i know not the full song for most of these fit the sections, but i just loved these lyrics and wanted to do this, so. I hope you enjoy
> 
> Feel free to stop by and say hi on [tumblr!](https://kristsune.tumblr.com/)


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